Emily's Path
by ruby gillis
Summary: COMPLETED! Will Emily Starr ever reach the top of the Alpine Path? Sequel to the Emily books. R&R!
1. In the Garden of New Moon

"To-morrow is my wedding day," said Emily Byrd Starr--soon to be Emily Byrd _Kent_--in a wondrous tone of voice. She sat out in the garden at old, beautiful New Moon, the home of countless and distinguished Murrays, with her childhood friend Isle Burnley--who could claim Murray distinction many times removed. But any claim on Murray-hood was worth having, no matter how slim. 

"It _is_ amazing," Isle agreed. "To think of you married! I've almost forgiven you and Teddy for going first--Perry and I must wait until the summer, when Parliament is out of session. But you're stealing my glory, and oh, I don't like having my glory stolen. You Antarctic wildebeest!"

Emily raised her eyebrows to lofty heights at that, but Ilse's remark was followed by a smile and an impulsive kiss. 

"Honestly, I don't mind a-tall," Ilse said. 

"You shouldn't," Emily retorted. "Because you had your chance!"

The girls looked at each other and burst into peals of laughter, Ilse's like a trumpet and Emily's like the song of a sweet summer lark. 

"Yes," said Ilse finally. "And aren't you glad I didn't take it? I'd be Mrs. Teddy Kent right now, and you'd be--"

"Mrs. Perry Miller, if I wanted," said Emily loftily. 

"Ooh! Touche." Ilse laughed again. "Oh, Emily, what a mess we made of things! But it's all straightened out now, thanks to goodness. And you and Teddy are going to have a honeymoon?"

"Yes--he is taking me to Paris."

"And Perry wants to go to Halifax!" Ilse moaned. "_Hardly _romantic. But I said I'd go anywhere in the world with him, so I suppose I must keep my promise. So Paris, and then on to the Disappointed House for you?"

"Yes--only we aren't calling it the Disappointed House anymore," said Emily dreamily, her head filled with purple, cloud-like visions for the future. "We've decided that our house will be called 'Evensong.' I've been reading Tennyson."

"_Have_ you?" said Ilse. 

Emily quoted: 

__

A spirit haunts the year's last hours

Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers.

To himself he talks.

For at evensong, listening earnestly,

At his work you may hear him sob and sigh

In the walks;

Earthward he bowseth the heavy stalks

Of the moldering flowers.

__

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;

Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

"That's a sad poem," said Ilse, shivering. 

"Do you think so?" asked Emily pensively. "I got _the flash_ when I read those lines--my mind conjured up a picture of a winter dream, with the snow falling softly down and me snug and cozy at home in the purply twilight watching it come. All the words for twilight are beautiful: dusk, half-light, vespers--but _eventide _is the nicest of all. 'The spirit' that Tennyson talks of is only the spirit of Summer--I've always thought Summer was the most stubborn of seasons--it hangs round so long, and is so reluctant to leave. Whereas Winter comes and goes gracefully, like a girl in white lace."

Ilse shook her head. "I don't know what you are talking about half the time."

"Of all the seasons, I love winter best, I think," said Emily. "Think of all of the winters I shall spend in my little home--with Teddy--and _friends_--and _family_. And the springs, and summers--oh Ilse, how much I have to look forward to!"

"I love you, you simpering crocodile," said Ilse, affectionately. 

* * *

Teddy came later, after Ilse was gone, and he and Emily had a ramble in Lofty John's Bush, making plans for their life together and thrilling over their nearness to one another. Aunt Elizabeth watched them as she washed the supper dishes. Part of her did not believe that the wedding would actually take place, despite the table in the dining room being set with the best china and Great-Grandmother Murray's lace veil hanging over Emily's bedroom door. Emily had always been--tempermental. She got that from the Starrs. She _must_. Murrays always stuck to whatever they said.

Aunt Elizabeth was pleased with Teddy Kent. He was not Andrew Murray--their first choice for Emily--and he was not from a well to-do family--his mother had been queer. But she was gone now. Perhaps it ran in the family? Earlier Aunt Ruth had remarked that Emily could not afford to be too picky. She _wrote_. And she was not too terribly pretty, after all. Aunt Elizabeth had not been able to argue with her over that. Emily was _not_ pretty--but she was beautiful, in an ethereal, indescribable way. So she had simply _looked_ at Ruth coldly. 

Aunt Elizabeth noticed that for some time she had been standing with her hands in the soapy dishwater, and felt embarrassed at her idleness. Imagine, letting her thoughts run away with her like that, as if she were--as if she were Emily! There were still dishes to put away, and a fire must be lit in the parlor to air it out.

The clock in the hallway struck midnight, and Aunt Elizabeth hurried to the window and threw up the sash. "Emily! Come inside immediately!" The bride and groom were not supposed to see each other on their wedding day. It was bad luck. And Aunt Elizabeth was not taking any chances. 

Hidden safely in the spruce grove, Emily leaned forward and gave Teddy a kiss. 

"It's our wedding day!" she said. 


	2. The Curse of Aunt Laura's Opal

Aunt Ruth gave a very Aunt Ruth-like sniff.  
  
"I still say it will be a miracle if this wedding actually happens," she said to Emily and Ilse, who were gathered in the parlor at New Moon, as Aunt Laura put pins in the hem of Emily's dress.  
  
Ilse rolled her eyes at this and Aunt Laura gave only a small, gentle smile- -but there was something steely behind it that was not usually there. Aunt Ruth could try the most patient person's nerves. Emily, however, was too happy to notice any sarcasm or snubs. It was her wedding day! She felt love for everyone in the world--yes, even for Aunt Ruth.  
  
"Oh, I love my dress," she said, running her hands lovingly over her skirts. "I've finally gotten my silk dress--silk petticoat--and silk stockings! When I was young I never thought the day would come when this type of extravagance was allowed! And now, here it is!"  
  
"Your legs are terrible skinny," was Aunt Ruth's reply. "I wouldn't notice except that your dress shows so much of them."  
  
"Oh, Ruth, for heaven's sake!" Aunt Laura exploded. "If you can't say something nice to Emily, don't say anything at all!"  
  
Aunt Ruth fixed Aunt Laura with a steely glare.  
  
"I would mind you to treat me with some respect," she said. "I am still your elder, Laura, remember that."  
  
"As if anyone could doubt that," whispered Ilse, and the three of them-- Aunt Laura, Emily and Ilse--broke out into bright peals of laughter. Such bright peals of laughter, in fact, that Daff, Emily's gray cat, who was sleeping on the settee, was startled out of his nap and tore madly around the room and out the door, upsetting Great-Grandmother Shipley's old Wedgwood vase in the process. Aunt Laura gave a gasp--Ilse ran to try and catch it--and Aunt Ruth stood stock still, watching the whole scene happen.  
  
"Oh!" shrieked Emily. "How funny Daff looked, tearing around like a beast! But oh, no, Ilse, Aunt Laura, the vase--can it be fixed?"  
  
"I don't think so," said Aunt Laura, who had abandoned Emily's hem to pick up the broken pieces of the Shipley vase. "Oh, what will Elizabeth say when she notices?"  
  
"Put it in that drawer over there and close it tight," said Ilse. "It will be days before she does notice, and by then you'll have thought up and explanation."  
  
It really was the only thing they could do. Aunt Laura hid the broken fragments shamefacedly.  
  
"Likely this was all caused by your opal, Laura," said Aunt Ruth. "They bring bad luck, you know."  
  
Aunt Laura carressed the fiery ring on her slim hand and said hotly, "Nonsense, Ruth. I believe nothing of the sort." Aunt Laura really loved that ring. It had been a present from Ilse's father, Allan Burnley, when he went to London for a medical conference. "Anyway, Ruth, you'd better not be superstitious. People might get the wrong idea."  
  
Aunt Ruth did not deign to answer this, but gave a very foreboding sniff.  
  
* * *  
  
It had been threatening to rain all day, and finally, around noon, the skies opened up.  
  
"I was so hoping it would clear up," said Emily dismally. "Now we can't be married in Lofty John's bush. It was my dream to be married there--Teddy and I used to tryst there when we were young."  
  
"Oh, darling," said Ilse sympathetically.  
  
"It's all for the best," said Aunt Ruth. "There's something not--right-- about being married out-of-doors. And the New Moon parlour is nicer than any bush on God's earth."  
  
Emily and Ilse exchanged smiles. Aunt Ruth was not--and never had been--a chaser of rainbows.  
  
* * *  
  
There was so much to do! The girls flew about the house--setting up chairs-- laying out plates--putting bouquets of spring flowers on the sideboards and mantlepieces. Ilse brought some spruce garlands from Lofty John's bush and wound then around the bannisters by way of consolation. They all worked like they were possessed, scrubbing and straightening.  
  
"Oh! Emily!" cried Aunt Elizabeth, suddenly catching sight of the clock. "You must go and get dressed. It's three o'clock. The guests will be arriving in an hour."  
  
Emily and Ilse flew upstairs. A moment later there was a dismayed cry from the little lookout. Aunts Elizabeth, Laura and Ruth arrived in the doorway of Emily's room to find her holding her wedding dress and veil in front of her. What was wrong with Emily's dress and veil? Why--they were ripped-- they hung in tatters and shreds as if--as if--they had been clawed--!  
  
"Daff!" Emily wailed. "Oh, you wretched, wretched cat. What am I to do? My dress--my veil--are ruined!" She gathered the tattered silk to her chest and tried to stifle a sob.  
  
"It is my fault," said Aunt Elizabeth weakly. "I came in to make sure you'd laid out your clothes properly--you used to leave them all wrinkled when you were a child--and I suppose I forgot to close the door behind me. Emily, dear, I'm sorry--sorrier than I've ever been."  
  
"Aunt Elizabeth--I forgive you--but what will we do now?" asked Emily wildly. "I haven't got anything else--proper--for a bride to wear."  
  
"This is all the fault of that opal, Laura," hissed Aunt Ruth.  
  
Aunt Laura defiantly ignored her.  
  
"Eureka!" cried Ilse from the depths of Emily's closet. She emerged with a lacy garment in her arms--a creamy, low-necked, gauzy dress. "I knew I'd seen this before, when we used to play dress up, together, Emily. It must have been your mother's old dress. Try it on, dearest--when we take the bustle off, it will look quite fashionable."  
  
Emily did as Ilse bid her, and it must be admitted that the dress did look fashionable, and suited her quite nicely. They put a crown of little white roses on her shining hair.  
  
"It suits you better than the silk," Aunt Laura pronounced.  
  
But oh! Emily's dream of being a lovely, silken bride was gone--and gone forever!  
  
* * *  
  
The guests arrived--the parlour was filled with friendly faces. All the Murrays known to man were there. Some of Emily's Shrewsbury chums, were too, and Miss Royal, from New York. Perry had come in with a hideous reproduction of Michelangelo's David--it was his wedding present to Teddy and Emily.  
  
Teddy--speaking of which--where was Teddy? It was ten to four--the minister was already in place--and he was no where to be found.  
  
"He's jilted her," Aunt Ruth wailed from the upstairs hallway. "Oh, poor Em'ly. I knew this would happen."  
  
"He has not jilted me," said Emily through gritted teeth.  
  
"I knew it was to good to be true," said Aunt Elizabeth dolefully.  
  
"He will be here, and the wedding will take place as planned," said Emily.  
  
"This is all the fault of Laura's opal," moaned Aunt Ruth.  
  
"Oh, bosh," said Aunt Elizabeth irreverently. "That's pure, un-Christian superstition, Ruth Dutton. Teddy Kent will be here."  
  
But--where could he be? The telephone rang--they all looked at each other-- Emily and Ilse and the aunts flew into the kitchen and clustered around the receiver.  
  
"Teddy?"  
  
"It's me," came the muffled response.  
  
"Where are you?" Emily cried.  
  
"I'm at home--in the Tansy Patch--I'll be there, Emily, honest I will, I just got held up."  
  
"Held up!" said Ilse scornfully.  
  
"Oh, will you send Perry Miller over?" Teddy asked desperately.  
  
* * *  
  
Perry returned with Teddy a quarter of and hour later. Teddy was wearing a splendid morning suit and looked very handsome. Perry--looked very strange. Not at all like he had looked when he set off from New Moon.  
  
He was wearing his dress shirt and suit jacket. But instead of suit pants, his bottom half was clothed in a pair of Teddy's striped pajama bottoms.  
  
"I went to pick up my suit from the shop last night," Teddy told Emily later. "And I didn't check to see if everything was there, I just took the box and left with it. And when I this morning when I went to dress I realized that they'd forgotten to give me my pants--I had the jacket and the tie--but no pants. I've been calling around all morning trying to find a pair. You know I don't keep much at the Tansy Patch anymore--most of my clothes are still being shipped from Montreal. The pajama pants and my old, paint-spattered dungarees were all I had! Am I lucky Perry happens to be the same size as me!"  
  
But when poor Emily came down the stairs on the arm of Cousin Jimmy, she knew nothing about this whole transaction. She saw Perry Miller standing ridiculously by Teddy in striped pajama bottoms and assumed it was one of Perry's jokes. The Murray temper flared up dangerously. She gritted her teeth.  
  
* * *  
  
"Dearly beloved," said Reverend Jones, the new minister, in the parlour of New Moon, "We are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and woman in holy matrimony."  
  
Emily smiled up at Teddy from where they stood. Aunts Elizabeth and Laura looked teary-eyed. Cousin Jimmy beamed, and Ilse, the bridesmaid, exchanged secret glances with Perry, the best man. A murmur had gone up when Emily entered the room. Why--she looked downright pretty! Why had no one noticed it before? Her hair shone like obsidian and she was as lithe and graceful as a wild, shadowy violet. Cousin Andrew--who had once thought Emily would be lucky to have him--now thought quite the reverse. Even Aunt Ruth admitted it.  
  
"If there is anyone who, before God and us all, voices an objection to this match, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."  
  
Ilse gave a titter, and Aunt Laura's devilish opal winked in the sunlight.  
  
And then--BOOM! There was an explosion and the whole room rocked from it. The chandelier swayed ominously and the guests shrieked and covered their heads. The room was filling with thick, black smoke from the kitchen--Aunt Addie fainted--Miss Royal ran to the window and threw it up--her dog, Chu- Chin, who was tied to the gate outside was barking like mad.  
  
Emily gathered her lacy skirts and followed the throng of people out of doors--Cousin Jimmy was ushering them out. The guests coughed from the smoke and winked at each other in confusion. Aunt Elizabeth, who had run into the kitchen while the rest of them were fleeing the house, came outside finally, with her hair escaping in wisps from its net and her face blackened with soot.  
  
"Ruth Dutton, you left a bottle of cooking oil next to the gas burner when you were making the sauce for the pudding," she said in a dangerous, low voice. "It exploded--a tea towel caught fire--but it is out now, don't worry. But the house is filled with smoke--we can't go back in there."  
  
Emily gasped. Teddy shook his head. Ilse began to laugh. She said later that she couldn't help it. The guests went through reactions over the entire spectrum of disbelief, shock and dismay.  
  
"Laura," said Aunt Elizabeth, advancing purposefully toward her. "Give--me-- that--opal."  
  
"Elizabeth!" Aunt Laura chided. "I don't believe you!"  
  
"It's bad luck," Aunt Elizabeth said, grabbing Laura's hand and fighting for the ring. "First the dress--then the rain--then Teddy--and now this! Well, Laura Murray, I may not be superstitious, but I say it's better to be safe than sorry. There now!"  
  
The crowd watched in disbelief as Elizabeth Murray turned and, with all her might, pitched the opal ring Dr. Burnley had picked out in London for Laura toward the pig pen.  
  
An amazing thing happened then. The rain, which had been coming dismally down all through this, stopped abruptly, as if someone had turned it off with a switch. The skies cleared--the sun came out--and Emily Starr and Teddy Kent were married in their original location, in Lofty John's bush, with a picnic following the ceremony, in the old orchard. But--  
  
"This was all your opal's fault, Laura," said Aunt Elizabeth later, as they scoured the blackened kitchen.  
  
"My opal! It was Ruth Dutton's forgetfulness," Laura defended. "I am not superstitious--I know better!"  
  
All the same, she did not wear the opal again--at least, not around Elizabeth. 


	3. Emily Abroad

May 19, 19--

Teddy and I have been in Paris for two days now. It had been rainy the whole time we've been here--but somehow I don't mind. Paris is one of those muted, Old-World towns that looks even more mysterious when the weather is drizzly. It is like stepping into a painting by one of the Impressionists--I mentioned this to Teddy and he looked at me appreciatively. The artist likes it when his authoress of a wife makes artistic comments. Plus, the sun has been shining in my heart ever since I became Mrs. Frederick--Emily _Kent_!

We went to dinner with a man who, a year ago, bought two of Teddy's paintings. We met him in the train station when we first got into town and he would not let us leave without promising we would come to his house for a visit. They are Americans and are very nice, boring people. Quite like Andrew et al. Martin is their name. Mr. Martin talked to Teddy about American football for hours on end it seemed--Teddy did an excellent job of pretending to be interested. It is a trick he says he learned from Ilse--to smile and nod and ask questions and interject with interested-sounding things like 'Oh!' and 'Really? You don't say.' I tried it myself with Mrs. Martin, and found it worked quite well. 

Mrs. Martin is much younger than her husband--or else she has kept her age very well. I am apt to believe that she is older than I am for she acts so stodgy. She read my novel, _The Moral of the Rose_, and liked it, except for "all of the lovemaking." There is very little lovemaking in my novel. It is not that _kind_ of novel. I have never been good at writing lovemaking. She also asked me if I would continue to write now that I was married. I told her of course, and this shocked her. 

'But, my dear,' said Mrs. Martin. 'There will be--_children_.' 

'I shall write when I am not tending to them,' I said cheerfully. 'And Mrs. Martin, they will have to sleep _sometime_.'

Before we left we went in to see Teddy's pictures. Mr. Martin had hung them side by side in his library. They were lovely and fanciful--both depicted scenes of the gods frolicking on Mt. Olympus. Only--Teddy has not completely gotten over putting my face in those he paints. Athena had decidedly pointed ears, and Persephone had a distinctly violet tinge in her eyes. 

May 22, 19--

I tired of art museums and told Teddy we must do something different today. We've done all of the sightseeing--we've been in the _Tour d'Eiffel _three separate times. Teddy wants to paint the view. I wanted to shop for the folks at New Moon--I promised them all souvenirs. So while he went to paint, I went shopping. We planned to meet up for lunch. 

I bought a lovely bottle of perfume for Aunt Laura and a new, lovely crocheted bonnet for Aunt Elizabeth. For Ilse I bought a silk parasol, and for Perry--that rouge!--a handsome tie that will look quite distinguished when he is standing up before Parliament. For Cousin Jimmy I got an old book of folk tales. He enjoys reading them and committing them to memory, and then repeating them to himself when he is busy working. Aunt Ruth was a challenge--I finally got her a brightly patterned scarf that I know she will never wear. 

And I made a friend today. While I was browsing in a book store--for myself--I came across an old volume and I picked it up--it would be the perfect present for Dean. Then I put it down again--I haven't heard from Dean ever since that short note telling me that he was giving me and Teddy the Disappointed House--I mean, Evensong--to live in. I wouldn't even know where to find him. I wrote twice to his old address, but I have not heard back. 

A tall, slim girl--about my age, or a little younger--with a pale cap of blonde hair was standing next to me. 'Oh!' she said. 'You must buy that book--I have it myself and it's ever so good.'

She blushed at being so forthright. She looked very familiar--I remembered that I'd seen her in one of the art lectures that Teddy has been dragging me to. She had asked a lot of intelligent, bright questions, and I liked that. I love people who aren't afraid to ask questions. 

'I'm Emily Kent,' I said, catching myself before I said Emily _Starr_. 

'I'm Betty,' said she, offering me her hand.

'Betty!' I laughed. 'You were in my art tour two days ago and you introduced yourself as Beth!'

'Because I _was_ Beth then,' she said earnestly. 'My name is Elizabeth Grayson, but when I'm blue--not terribly blue, just a little--I'm always Beth. When I'm _very_ down in the dumps I'm Lizzy, but I haven't been Lizzy for a while. Those art tours bore me senseless. Father drags me to them. _He_ thinks I'm a Philistine. Today I'm happy and free--there's no art tour--so I'm Betty. I'm always Betty when I'm happy.' 

I liked her immediately. And she is from Summerside, which isn't ten miles from New Moon! I met her father who came over after he had paid for his books, and found out that he and Aunt Elizabeth were in school together. He invited Teddy and me to his house for dinner tomorrow night. He wants to see this young artist he's heard so much about--and they've both read _Moral of the Rose_ and they loved it! 'Little Elizabeth has read it three times,' Mr. Grayson said. That is what he calls his daughter: Little Elizabeth. It suits her--she is so delicate and otherworldly. 

'I'm so glad to meet you,' said Little Elizabeth, giving me an impulsive kiss on the cheek before she went. 'An old friend of mine--Miss Shirley--and I drew a map of fairyland once--and there was a little fairy girl on it, who looked just like _you_. Are you sure you're not a fairy-person?'

I've always been sensitive about my pointed ears but I didn't mind it when Elizabeth said it. She is sweet and lovable and she takes the sting out of things. 

May 26, 19--

Teddy and I have had our first fight.

I woke up this morning feeling peevish--I had a stuffy nose--my head throbbed--and it was gloomy. Not a nice, romantic gloom like it was when I first got here, but a flat, gray, dull sort of gloom. But it _is_ hard to feel romantic when your nose is stuffed up. 

Everything Teddy did annoyed me. He likes Little Elizabeth and her father. But he called Elizabeth a nice _child_, and somehow that seemed very condescending to me. 

'For heaven's sake, Teddy,' I snapped. 'Stop acting like you're an old man.'

He had coffee sent up to the room when he _knew_ I wanted tea. I didn't tell him, but I felt he should have _known_. So I was silent and accusatory through breakfast. 

Teddy was going out and I didn't want to go. I watched him dress--had he always been so fastidious? He took _two minutes_ to tie his tie. And _then_ it wasn't tied to his liking so he untied it and did it again!

'Teddy!' I said finally. 'Tie and be done with it! I never _knew_ you were such a fuss!' 

Teddy had had enough of me by then, I suppose. He said nothing but he gave me a _look_. And left without giving me any kiss. I fell back against the pillows and sobbed after that--Teddy never takes his leave of me without giving me a kiss. 'Our marriage is doomed,' I thought. We hadn't been married for two weeks and already he didn't love me anymore! I saw in my minds eye ahead to the future--we would have to sell Evensong--and tell everyone that the marriage was finished--I saw all the way to the divorce courts. Or worse, I saw us living side by side like strangers, getting more and more tired with one another.

I cried myself back to sleep which wasn't good at all for my poor nose. 

When I woke up I felt better. The stuffiness was almost gone and the weather had cleared--and Teddy came back with a bouquet of irises and a box of delicious chocolate croissants and a jug of _café_ _au lait_. He greeted me with not one but _two_ kisses--'Because I forgot to give you one before I left,' he explained. 

'So you _do_ love me?' I asked, still somewhat tearfully. 

'How could I not?' Teddy said. 

What a goose I'd been! 

May 31, 19--

We spent a long time wandering the streets of Paris tonight--we stopped by the river Seine and watching the sunset. Tomorrow we are going home. It's been a wonderful dream to be here, amidst all of this beauty with the man I love so dearly--and who loves me! 

I'm excited to go _home_--I miss the Aunts and Cousin Jimmy--I want to set up house in Evensong--I want to tell Ilse about everything that's happened. Uncle Jimmy writes that the apple tree in the garden of our new house has burst into bloom. He's gone down there every day to light a fire so the house won't be musty when we return. Ilse writes that she has news for me, too. Little Elizabeth will be back on the Island in September and she promises to come and visit. 

  
Paris has been wonderful but--as someone very wise once said--

Be it ever so humble

There's no place like home!


	4. Ilse's News

Emily and Teddy caught a train to Shrewsbury and then decided to walk home. It was a fine night, clear, with thousands upon thousands of stars--or so it seemed--overhead.

"I feel like 'a traveler in an antique land,' Emily quoted, "With the only the stars to guide me home and the Wind Woman to whisper to me the way. Oh, Teddy, it's so good to be going home!"

Teddy looked over at the elfin face he loved so much and agreed with her, wholeheartedly. 

They turned off of the main Shrewsbury road onto a smaller, narrower one--they passed Lofty John's bush and the New Moon farm--the road narrowed until it was little more than a path--and Evensong burst into view. It did not look like a Disappointed House now. It sat silently and sleekly in the night like a cat with its paws folded under it. It was waiting for them--biding its time until they got home. 

Someone--later they would find it was Cousin Jimmy--had gone down to put a lamp in the window. It gave off such a nice, homey feeling that Emily suddenly stopped--Teddy looked over at her face, which was rapt--she had that mysterious look in her eyes that she always called _the flash_. 

"I wonder all of the things that will happen here," Emily said, as she and Teddy made their way up the walk. "There will be births--and deaths--and weddings--hearts will be broken--and will mend--people will fall in love in this house. Oh, Teddy!"

"Welcome home, darling," he said, opening the door for her, and leading her over the threshold. 

* * *

Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Laura were so glad to have them back. Cousin Jimmy was beside himself with delight.

Aunt Elizabeth felt her a suspicious pricking feeling behind her eyes. She _wasn't_ going to cry because she was glad that Emily was home! She wasn't. But just in case, she hastened to the kitchen where she'd prepared a special welcome-home dinner for the weary travelers. When the strange sensation had stopped she made her way back out to the parlour, where Emily was still chatting away. 

"Oh, I can't wait to tell Ilse about it," said Emily. "Have you seen much of her lately?"

The Aunts and Cousin Jimmy exchanged glances. Cousin Jimmy said, "As a matter of fact, no."

* * *

Emily went over to the Burnley's the next night to call on Ilse.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Dr. Burnley boomed. "Ilse doesn't live here anymore."

"She--doesn't?" 

"She and Perry Miller ran off last week and got hitched," Dr. Burnley explained. "Then they went off to Halifax for a week--as a _honeymoon_. Oh, the honeymoons I could have given them. Europe--Asia--Africa!" He shook his head mournfully. "Anyhow, they'll be home tomorrow."

Emily went back to Evensong, electrified. 

"What could have possessed her to run off?" Emily said to Teddy. "We made a pact when we were small that neither of us would ever run away to be married. We heard how people talked of my mother doing it and it seemed _such_ a bad thing. And Ilse had such great plans for her wedding to Perry--it was going to be in September. Oh, why didn't they wait? Everyone will be scandilised."

"Ilse won't care much about that," said Teddy, with a smile. He had more than once been privy to Ilse's scandals. 

Ilse and Perry had arranged to rent old Mr. Carpenter's house for the rest of the summer. It had stood empty since he died. Emily went up the path the next night, as soon as Ilse telephoned to say she was home. 

"Mrs. Perry Miller, I presume?" said Emily, arching one eyebrow, as Ilse threw open the door. 

Ilse said, "You young goat."

"You've used that one before," Emily said. "Honestly, Ilse, if you must insult me, you might think up some new ones every now and again."

"You corpulent kangaroo, then," said Ilse nonchalantly. "Oh, Emily, I'm glad you've come. I want to tell you _everything_. I've been dying to, but you were over in mouldy old Par_ee_."

"Whatever possessed you to run away when your father has already started to pay for a big wedding for you at the end of the summer?" 

"The official story is that we were swept off of our feet by romance and couldn't wait any longer to bonded together forever," said Ilse, sweeping dramatically around the small, dingy house. 

"What's the unofficial story?" asked Emily coolly. 

"Why, we're having a baby, Perry and I," said Ilse, just as calmly. "So you see, we had to marry."

Emily was rendered speechless--but only for a second. "Ilse!" she managed to say. 'What--what?" 

"You should see the emotions playing across your face at this moment," said Ilse happily, sitting on the sofa next to Emily with her legs tucked under her. "Shock--reproach--disbelief--pity--why, Emily, don't be any of those things. I'm _glad_. A baby! Imagine--me, a mother!"

"I am imagining it," Emily retorted. "That's what caused the look of _disbelief_. Ilse, what does everyone say about this?"

"Perry's wild with delight," said Ilse. "And so am I--and you're reproachful. That's everyone who knows. Except for a doctor in Charlottetown, but I don't expect _him_ to tell anybody. And I guess you'll tell Teddy--that's all right. But tell him that you both must act very surprised when its born 'early.'"

"But Ilse, where will you live?"

"We're going to buy this little cottage," said Ilse, gesturing around her. "It's not so bad. There's a lovely view and a nice yard. We won't be cramped--we'll be cozy. Perry's hired cleaners to come in from Shrewsbury and get rid of the dirt and the creepy-crawlies--Mr. Carpenter was a good teacher, but he wasn't much of a housekeeper, even before he was dead. Emily, you'll help me really set this place up like a home though, won't you? You've done such a sweet job on your own house. And I have great plans for the garden. During the winter Perry will be in Charlottetown, when Parliament's in session. He'll keep a flat there, and come home on the weekends, and I'll stay here with our wee one and miss him like crazy."

Emily slid over on the couch then, and put her arm around Ilse's shoulders. 

"I _am_ glad for you, dearest," she said, with a smile and a tender note in her voice. 

"I knew you would be," said Ilse contentedly, "Just as soon as you came to your senses. And, you know, if it's a girl, I'm going to call her _Emily_. What do you think of that?"

Emily could not say. Her eyes were shining with tears. 


	5. The Forgotten Murray

Little Elizabeth came, as promised, in September, on the very day that would have been Ilse and Perry's wedding day. Would have been! They were an established old couple by now. Somehow it seemed as if they had been married longer than Emily and Teddy! Ilse had done wonders with the little cottage, though the old spinsters of the neighborhood were scandalised by the décor. Ilse had papered the entire parlor with a pattern that looked like peacock feathers, and the dining room with a pattern of bright-pink conch shells. It was bright and cheerful and a little bit off-kilter, like Ilse herself. 

Emily wondered how brash, saucy Ilse and shy, sweet Little Elizabeth would get along. At first they were wary of one another, like two cats. But they soon fell to liking one another. Little Elizabeth was amazed by Ilse and all of her charms and Ilse admitted that she "wasn't bad." What bothered Emily more was that Ilse was rather courteous around Little Elizabeth. She never flew into her tempers when Elizabeth was around. 

"She's rather nice to sit and talk with--when I feel like sitting and talking," said Ilse. "But Emily--you must promise not to like her better than me. I'll cut my eyes out if you do. I-I'll--"

"Enough!" Emily laughed. "I don't like her better than you. I like Little Elizabeth _as much_ as you--in an entirely different way. I like her because she is _her_, and you because you're _you_."

Evensong was really too small for them to have houseguests, but no matter--Little Elizabeth was content to stay at New Moon, which was only a short walk away, in Emily's old room. She got along famously and immediately with the folks there. Aunt Laura adored her from the start, and Cousin Jimmy, too--he even recited part of his epic for her. But it was between Aunt Elizabeth and Little Elizabeth that a true alliance was formed. Neither could explain it, but there it was. They washed the supper dishes together, giggling as if they were not separated in age by forty years. They sat on the porch and knit during the day. At night Little Elizabeth gave Aunt Elizabeth a kiss on her old wrinkled cheek before going out with Emily for the night--and waved back at her through the window from the lane.

"She's a duck," Little Elizabeth pronounced. 

In fact, everyone liked Little Elizabeth so much that they were very sorry when her visit drew to a close--even Ilse was sorry. 

"You can't go, you little whelp," she said hotly when Little Elizabeth made plans for her departure. 

Which showed the Ilse had grown to like her very much, indeed.

* * *

"I love a graveyard by moonlight," said Emily as they walked along in the old Murray resting place, the night before Little Elizabeth's departure. 

Little Elizabeth shivered. "I like so many things by moonlight--I don't yet know if a graveyard is one of them. I think I like them better by day. You'll call me a baby, I know, Emily, but I'm spooked."

"Don't be, dearest," said Emily, with a laugh. "These people that rest here are my blood--and they're living right now, through me. They laugh at my jokes, and cry over my heartaches. I do believe that they love whom I love. So you have no need to be spooked, Little Elizabeth, because I love _you_."

"And I love you," said Elizabeth, linking her arm through Emily's. "Aren't you lucky to have a family graveyard? Where you can sleep for all eternity surrounded by those you love--with dear little kidlets like _us_ wandering through it that are your great-great grandchildren. 'I wonder what Great-Grandmother Emily was like her day,' they will say. 'I wonder what she would be doing if she were with us right now.' Father and I will stop where we drop, I suppose. There aren't enough of us to fill even a corner of this yard."

"I'm not going to be buried here," said Emily, a bit regretfully. "There is only enough room for Aunt Laura and Elizabeth, and Cousin Jimmy. But I don't mind--much. I'm to be buried with Mother and Father, and Father's people. They're much more--_Oops_!"

Emily, who had been wandering in the far corner, the oldest part of the old graveyard, suddenly caught the toe of her boot on a tree root hidden under the earth and pitched forward. Little Elizabeth, who was still holding her arm, tumbled down, too. 

"Oh!" said Emily, as a sharp pain went up her leg. "I've twisted my ankle. Help me up, Little Elizabeth--if I can't manage it back to the house, you'll have to go for Teddy."

Little Elizabeth tried to pull her up, but Emily's boot was caught on something. The two girls scraped at the earth with their hands to find the stubborn culprit. Instead of hitting the familiar snarl of a tree branch, Emily's fingers brushed against cool, hard granite.

"Why--it looks like there's a grave here," she said. 

She brushed more of the earth away to reveal a small stone, one that she had never seen before--it had never been mentioned that there was another grave here. 

"_In Memory only of Charlotte Murray, who is Lost_," read Little Elizabeth. "Why--what does that mean--'in memory only?' It's a strange way of putting it. And why was she lost? Who was she, Emily?"

"I have no idea," said Emily. "Aunt Elizabeth will know, though--she knows everything about the Murrays. I think I can walk--let's go back to the house and find out!"

* * *

"_Charlotte_ Murray?" said Aunt Elizabeth. "I don't think I've ever heard of a Charlotte Murray before. You say you found this grave in _our_ graveyard? Could it be another family of Murrays?"

"That would be quite a coincidence, if it were," said Aunt Laura. "I'll get the Family Bible and we can look her up."

"_In Memory only of Charlotte Murray, who is Lost_," quoted Uncle Jimmy softly. 'Well, I'll be. It's a mystery. I'll be."

Aunt Laura set the big family Bible on the table, and she and Emily and Elizabeth crowded around it eagerly. The last entry in the Genealogy section was the news of Emily's birth. **_Emily Byrd Starr, born May 19, 1888_**, it read. The ink was just beginning to fade. Emily felt a strange pricking at the back of her neck. Who had written that, when they had gotten the news of her birth? Was it Aunt Elizabeth? It wasn't her writing, or Aunt Laura's. Perhaps Grandfather Hugh Murray had been the one who received a letter about the baby granddaughter he would never see--perhaps it was he who had written her name in the book in a big, black scrawl. Next to it, Aunt Elizabeth had written in an incongruously neat hand, **_married May 10, 1915, to Frederick Kent, New Moon, PEI. _**Her whole history was in that book. How strange to be the last in a long line of ancestors!

"There is no Charlotte Murray," said Aunt Elizabeth, studying the register. "Or if there was, there is no record of her now."


	6. Lost Charlotte

"I've got _such_ a head-ache," complained Mrs. Murdock, one beautiful Saturday morning the week after Little Elizabeth had gone. "Likely it's a brain aneurysm. I'll be dead before the day is out."

She said this in a very commonplace way, as if she meant to say, "It will rain before nightfall," or "I'll have that beef roast for dinner." It was almost as if she wanted it to happen. She relished it. Well, Emily supposed, when you were as old as Mrs. Murdock--who had turned one-hundred years old that month--you must long for it at times. Already she had told Emily that she didn't have a friend in the world--her children and siblings had died long ago. Everyone she knew, it seemed, had died long ago. 

"You have your grandchildren," said Emily. "I know Paul Philip and his wife are so happy that you've come to Shrewsbury to be with them."

"Paul Philip is a snivelling milk-toast and his wife is the fattest woman I've ever seen," said Mrs. Murdock. "They want my money--not _me_. I know exactly how it was when I wrote that I was coming--no, I didn't ask, I _told_. When you _ask_ you run the risk of being refused. 'Oh,' Mrs. Paul probably said, 'Pa,' for that is what she calls him, 'Whatever will we do? October is the Exposition in Charlottetown. We won't be able to go with your old grandmother hanging around! Oh, and I did hope my dahlias would bring the first place prize!' 'Never mind,' says my grandson, Paul Philip, 'We'll get that Starr girl from New Moon to come up and sit with her. They're both as crazy as loons. They should get along well.'"

"Mrs. Murdock," laughed Emily. "You forget that _I_ am the novelist! Why, you're almost as good as writing dialogue as I am."

"Well, I should be," said Mrs. Murdock. "I've had ten decades of listening to people yap their traps off. You might come over here and sit with me and talk, Mrs. Kent, since I'll be dead before sundown. So your husband is an artist?"

"Yes."

"Talented?"

"Yes--he is known as respected the world over."

"How strange he should have picked you--when he might have had so many beautiful girls," Mrs. Murdock murmured. "Not that you aren't pretty--there's something otherworldly about you. Those violet eyes! Are you an angel or an imp, Mrs. Kent?"

"A bit of both, I think," said Emily, with her slow, friendly smile. "But oh, Mrs. Murdock, won't you call me Emily? _Mrs. Kent_ makes me feel dreadfully old--as if I was somebody's mother. I can't help thinking you mean Teddy's mother when you call me that."

"Aileen Kent was crazy as a cuckoo," said Mrs. Murdock. "Poor lunatic. Don't look so surprised, Emily--that _is_ a pretty name. I grew up in the Tansy Patch myself--by way of Stovepipe Town--my Pa was poor. I worked as a hired girl for the Murrays--I was their your Grandfather Hugh was born, scrubbing the scullery floor. I never saw a more ill-tempered child. Always squalling. Heard he didn't improve much as a man. You look like him, when you knit your brows that way."

"So I've been told," said Emily. 

"I've lived so long that anyone's forgotten I ever went out to work," Mrs. Murdock said, folding her hands over her bosom. "They've forgotten I exist. 'Maybelle Murdock?' they say. 'Why that old bat died ages ago!' Fools. My wits are sharp--I remember every story I'm ever told--every piece of gossip--it's all stored away up here."

"I bet you know many stories about the Murrays," said Emily, her eyes shining, and her writer's soul thrilling. 

"I do," said Mrs. Murdock. "But I don't like to talk about a family like that. A family that's had so much trouble should be left on its own. They don't need anymore from me."

"You mean Cousin Jimmy, I suppose," said Emily with a sigh.

"Yes--Simple Jimmy Murray could have been a doctor--a writer--a philosopher! Until Elizabeth pushed him into that well. That's the saddest part--she's never forgiven herself--never will. She'll die without ever asking him for his forgiveness. And your ma was Juliet Murray, wasn't she? When she ran off they crossed through her name in the family Bible. All because she ran off to get married to man they didn't like! The Murrays at New Moon _mourned_ her--as if she was buried instead of married. And then--there was that business with that little girl disappearing all those years and years ago."

Emily felt a pricking in her thumbs. "What little girl?" she asked. 

"Cherice Murray? Carlotta? Some name like that."

"Do you mean Charlotte Murray?"

"Yes, that's it," said Mrs. Murdock, happily. "A sad business, that."

"Oh, Mrs. Murdock, will you tell me about it?" Emily begged, her hands clasped. 'It is a mystery at New Moon--none of us have any information on Charlotte Murray--there is just her little grave--that's all."

"It's not even her grave," said Mrs. Murdock. "She isn't buried there. They don't know _what_ happened to Lost Charlotte--that's what they called her. She was fifty years older than me--or she would have been--and she wasn't a Murray by birth. The Murrays had a series of cabins built on their property before they planted the old orchard and one of the tenant's wives had a baby girl--and she died. The tenant went crazy--they had just been married--and hung himself from the rafter in their cabin when he found it. If your great-grandmother hadn't gone down to the cabin with a pot of stew for the new mother, she never would have found little Charlotte there, and the baby would have died. Imagine the scene--two dead people and a little live baby in that cramped cabin space. What a terrible sight. Mrs. Murray picked up the baby, which was days old, and it opened its eyes--and its eyes were the purest green she ever saw. None of that wishy-washy blue for this baby. She took it home with her. She wanted to name it Esme, for those green eyes, or Jade, but your great-grandfather wouldn't have it. He called it Charlotte, which was what his hunting dog had been called. That wasn't meant to be an insult--he loved that old dog. And they all loved Charlotte. Treated her just as their own.

"Charlotte grew up as proud as the proudest Murray that was ever born. When she was sixteen years old she wanted to marry James Perry, a Charlottetown boy. I remember his son well--I almost took him as _my_ beau once. Your great-grandfather refused to let her. A Perry wasn't good enough for a Murray, he said. At which Charlotte exploded, 'But I'm NOT a Murray! And I don't want to be, if it means I can't marry James!' Your grandfather slapped her and told her that a Murray was the best thing in the world to be, and that she should be lucky he allowed her that honor, because _her_ real folks were trash. Your grandfather loved that girl to the grave, but he was a hot-tempered man. Murrays had a reputation for temper."

"They still do," said Emily. "Oh, Mrs. Murdock, go on--what happened?"

"He erased her name from the Family Bible, and told her that if she wasn't proud to be a Murray she wasn't going to be one at all. When Charlotte saw what she'd done she left. And that's it. She left--and no one ever saw her again."

"She ran away?" asked Emily. 

"Some think so. Some say she was tired of being cowed by the proud Murrays and went out to find her _real_ family--there was some of them left in England. But most people believe that she took her father's dory out into the Shrewsbury pond and tried to row away downriver, to the Glen. One of her old schoolteachers lived there--perhaps she was running away to her. Anyway, the dory was found overturned the next morning. They dredged the pond after a few months, when no word had been heard from Charlotte."

"Did they--find--her?" Emily wondered. 

"Yes. They found Lost Charlotte's body. It probably was her--but your great-grandparents wouldn't admit it. It was the body of another girl, they said, someone else. They would rather have her buried in a nameless, pauper's grave than to admit that their girl they loved so was dead. And then people would say that they saw a girl that looked like Lost Charlotte in Halilfax, or Boston, or Calgary, and it would get everyone's hopes up again. But she was dead. She had to be. She loved them too much to leave home forever. When your grandma and pa died, their children put up that stone in the old graveyard. Their parents would never let them do it. _In memory _only_ of Charlotte Murray_--because her body isn't there."

"Mrs. Murdock," said Emily. "You are the only one in the world who remebers the story of Lost Charlotte."

"It's a sad story," said Mrs. Murdock. "No one was permitted to mention Lost Charlotte and it caused so much grief that they all tried to forget. It was well over a hundred years ago, anyway. Leaves a bad taste in my soul to think of such grief and loss. Now, Emily, girl, why don't you read me something out of that _Rose_ book you brought--it's a good story, a happy story. I rather like hearing it--one of the only pleasures. Humour a dying woman and read to me, won't you, dear?" 


	7. Good News!

"I've found out the story of Lost Charlotte," said Emily, and she sketched the details that Mrs. Murdock had told her to Aunt Laura and Aunt Elizabeth and Cousin Jimmy, who listened eagerly. At the end of it, Aunt Laura wiped away tears. 

"How sad--how very sad," she said. 

"Aunt Laura," said Emily. "I am going to write it all down--this story of Lost Charlotte. In my mind it is a beautiful story--about how love can outlast death. Sad, yes, but also a testament to human beings' power to love. I will find out everything I can from Mrs. Murdock, and write this story for you, to _show_ you how beautiful it is."

Emily spent her days up in Shrewsbury with Mrs. Murdock and her nights writing furiously at her little desk at home. Teddy woke up sometimes at night and watched her lovingly and wondrously. She wrote as if she was possessed--as if the words were flowing from a divine power and she was simply the vessel by which they were made known. 

It took her a month of furious writing, but at the end of it she had the complete story of Lost Charlotte--based somewhat on fact--but mostly how she _imagined_ it must have happened. It was more than a story--it was a slim novel. On the night of the first snowstorm of the year, Teddy, Ilse, Perry and the New Moon folks came down to Evensong for the night and Emily read them a chapter or two from her book. It was a fanciful, magical, ghostly little book. 

"I love it," Ilse sighed. "I like how Charlotte's ghost comes back and wanders around her old home in the spring. I hope that we can do that after we are dead--roam around all of the places we love." She shivered.

"Will you try to publish it?" Perry asked. 

"I don't know," said Emily. "Little Elizabeth came down yesterday from Summerside to read it and she said I should."

"But won't everyone know you are writing about the Murrays?" Aunt Elizabeth blanched. 

"I've changed the name, Aunt Elizabeth. There are no _Olneys_ living in Shrewsbury. And no one remembers the story of Lost Charlotte, anyway. Likely it won't be taken--I can't decide if it is a novel for grownups or a fairy-story for children, so it ended up being a little of both. No publishing house would buy it."

However, she sent it off faithfully to Warehams, the house that had published her first book, _The Moral of the Rose._ And heard nothing back for weeks on end. No rejection--but no acceptance, either. 

Emily stared out the window at the flakes that were coming down and carpeting the Evensong garden in white. It would be Christmas in another week. 

* * *

One Christmas Eve, Emily and Teddy went down to the New Moon folks to open presents. Emily got a lovely velvet coat from Aunt Elizabeth that would be warm as well as stylish. Aunt Laura had crocheted them a lovely coverlet for their bed, and both Aunts had gone in together and saved to buy Emily a typewriter. It was so efficient--she would be able to spend twice as much time on her manuscripts, now. Emily thanked them for these things, a necklace of amethysts shining on her slender through. That was Teddy's present. The amethysts were the same color as her eyes. 

Cousin Jimmy handed her a flat, solid package. A familiarly-shaped package. Emily tore the wrappings of and looked up--it was a fresh, new Jimmy-book. Cousin Jimmy only bought her a new Jimmy-book when she passed some milestone in her career--some new post on her way up the Alpine slope

"Open it up," Cousin Jimmy said. 

Emily did just that, and on the first page, there was a folded piece of paper. Emily unfolded it and looked at the address in the upper corner. 

"It's from Warehams!" she said. 

"Read it," Cousin Jimmy grinned. 

"Dear Mrs. Kent.we thank you for writingpleased to have another manuscript from youwe would like to accept your novel, _Lost Charlotte,_ for publication. It will be the featured title in our Spring catalog! _And_ we would like to sign you to a--three book contract? A three-book contract! Oh, Cousin Jimmy!"

Emily threw her arms around his neck. 

"I knew you could do it, pussy," he said. "You're almost at the top of your Alpine Path now, aren't you?"

"Almost," Emily said, her eyes shining. "Before the way was hidden in clouds--and now the end is in sight."


	8. Down the Valley of the Shadow

Ilse and Perry waded over through the storm on New Year's Eve. So did Dr. Burnley, and the folks from New Moon, and Little Elizabeth from town. There was not quite enough room for them all, but they were cozy around the hearth at Evensong. They sipped cups of mulled cider and watched the flames flicker as they exchanged hopes for the New Year. 

It began to storm, and the wind and snow beat against the house. "The old year is peevish, and doesn't want to leave," said Ilse, peevishly herself. She had been in a poor humour all night. "For who knows what the new year will bring? I'd rather stick with this year--I've liked this year. It's been the best year of my life. This new year I know nothing about."

Around the clock she stood, white-faced and paced around the room once. 

"Ilse?" Perry asked. 

"Don't talk to me, you pestilent parasite," Ilse had snapped, and kept walking. 

At one point she gave a little cry--"Oh!" Everyone in the room looked up, and Perry went to his wife and steadied her. This time Ilse did not snap at him. She looked too frightened. Which was frightening to the rest of them--they had never seen Ilse so pale. 

Dr. Burnley said, "I suppose we should get her settled in the spare room upstairs."

"Of course," said Emily calmly, going up to make the bed. 

"Oh, Emily, I'm sorry," Ilse said, trembling. Ilse--trembling! Could this frightened creature be Ilse? "Don't make up the bed nicely, I'll just muss it. Oh, Emily--I'm going to have a baby."

"We've noticed," Emily smiled. "We've known for quite some time now."

Ilse groaned again, and Dr. Burnley ordered everyone out. 

Ilse caught Emily's hand on the way out. 

"Don't go, darling," she begged. "What if--anything--happens?"

Dr. Burnley was adamant. All of them must leave except for Ilse, of course, and Perry. Emily kissed Ilse's cold little hand. "Nothing will happen to you, dearest," she said. 

* * *

They slept fitfully all night. In the morning, Dr. Burnley woke Emily, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, by patting her gently on the shoulder. 

"Is it over?" Emily asked. 

"Yes," said Allan Burnley, his face haggard. "It's a little girl. They've named her Emily, after you."

"Oh!" Emily whispered joyously. "But Dr. Burnley, why aren't you happy? Your first grandchild! Oh, why don't you smile?"

"This child," said Dr. Burnley, swallowing hard, "Won't live. She'll be dead by sundown."

He walked sharply into the kitchen. Emily stood, stricken, and climbed the stairs to Ilse.

* * *

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Ilse whispered. "Emily Miller. It's a good name, Isn't it? Only if people don't call her Millie. Millie MillerLook at her rosebud mouth. And her fat, fat cheeks. Emily--do you want to hold her?"

"Yes," Emily said, and accepted the sleeping bundle. The baby did not look as if she was dying. Her skin was marble-white and her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep. 

"Ilse," asked Emily. "Has your father said anything to you--about the baby--?"

Ilse hesitated, and played with the baby's blanket. She barked a short laugh. 

"Father says something's wrong with her lungs." Ilse made this sound like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. As if he had said that this baby was born on the moon. "He's being over-cautious. There is nothing wrong with my baby. My little Emmy. Come here to Mama, sweetheart." She took the baby from Emily and nestled it back in her arms. 

Emily saw it now--the baby had no color--she saw the little chest rise and fall with difficulty with each breath. She realized with horror that it must be true. Oh, God, poor Ilse. Poor Perry. 

"There is nothing wrong," Ilse said again. Perry, who had remained silently standing, with red eyes, took a step forward then. 

"Ilse--" he said softly, placing a hand on her arm. 

"Don't," she said. "Don't. There is nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Is there, little Emmy? Is there, my wee little babe?"

* * *

Little Emily Miller died at sundown. She closed her eyes peacefully, and the labored breathing slowed--and then stopped. Her mother, father, grandfather, and namesake watched her go.

Ilse began to howl. It was a sound of pure anguish. Perry could not stop the tears that fell down his cheeks. 

Emily went downstairs with a white face, leaving the little family alone with its grief. Aunt Elizabeth saw her eyes and knew what had come to pass. 

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," said she. "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

The only other sound they could hear was the wind whipping the trees, and Ilse's faint cries from upstairs. 

"Poor Ilse, poor Perry," said Aunt Laura. "Their lives will never be the same again."


	9. The Ghost of a Change

Everyone thought that it was Perry and not Ilse who took it hardest. He grew pale and dark circles came out under his eyes after his little daughter died. He confided to Emily that he had trouble sleeping. "I keep thinking of her, under the ground, and how we put here there," he said. "I think that she must be so cold, and lonely--Emily, it's hard."

Emily did not doubt it. 

Ilse recovered quite quickly--on the outside at least. Emily knew better. She was laughing and gay--but in a hollow way. She was like a shell of the old Ilse. And at times her true feelings showed. Aunt Ruth came over one day when Aunt Laura and Aunt Elizabeth were away, and took her tea with Ilse and Emily. 

"Mrs. George Burns' had another little boy," she said, helping herself to another scone--her third. "It's her seventh child in all, and my, how they run ragged through the town. You'd think she'd give the matter some thought before having another child, the way she seems to care nothing for the others."

"How wonderful," said Ilse, bitterly, before anyone could stop her. "Mrs. George Burns has seven children she neither likes nor can afford, and my little darling girl is asleep forever in the ground. That's good old-fashioned fairness for you. Oh, God, what were You thinking? To she that hath not shall be taken. I understand that Bible verse, now." She stood up jerkily and left the table, but was back in a quarter of an hour with suspiciously red eyes that she tried to cover by smiling and being especially merry. The effect was grotesque.

Perry accepted people's condolences gratefully though exhaustedly, but Ilse would not. She caused a dreadful scene in church, when the visiting reverend tried to offer his sympathies.

"God has called her home," he said, taking Ilse's dead-white hand in his. 

"Home!" Ilse snorted. "God didn't give her time to make anywhere else her home. He was greedy--I didn't think God was greedy and jealous, but he is."

The poor reverend, who had only the best intentions, was shocked, and tried to explain to Ilse what he had meant. He meant only that her baby girl had gone to its one, true home--she'd gone to heaven with God, which is every good person's home. Ilse would have none of it. She put her fingers in her ears and yowled to drown out his words. On top of that, Perry had broken down and sobbed like a child. People started to say that the baby's death had unhinged both of them. Neither of them had been seen again since in church. 

They would leave the house without much prompting, though Emily and Teddy tried to tempt them with offers of cheery dinners, and outings to the pictures in town. Aunt Elizabeth sent Emily over with a tureen of soup one late winter afternoon. "Perry Miller's skin and bones and Ilse's too distracted with grief to do anything at all," she said. "Those two will starve to death if no one does anything."

"It is too much for children to deal with," said Cousin Jimmy thoughtfully. "That is what they are--children, despite everything. Poor little souls."

"It is too much for anyone to deal with," said Aunt Laura, brimming with tears. "Babies--shouldn't--_die_."

Emily knocked on the door of the little house, bearing the soup tureen in one hand, and Ilse answered after a long while--it was late in the afternoon but she was still dressed in her peignoir and looked as if she had just woken from sleep. "Oh. Emily. Come in." She opened the door wider. 

"Aunt Elizabeth sends her love, and dinner," said Emily, in a ghastly voice that she meant to be cheerful. 

She was horrified. The little house was filthy--dishes were stacked on the table with bits of food remaining, and it hadn't been swept in ages. The curtains were drawn and in the slants of sunlight coming from between them, dust motes swirled in the air. Piles of clothes were dumped at intervals throughout the room. Emily had to hold up her skirt as she walked across the kitchen floor, it was so covered in grime. 

"Ilse," she said. "Where do you keep your mop--and your cleaning supplies?"

"In the cabinet there," Ilse said dully, and disappeared back up to her bedroom. 

Emily cleaned with all of her might. At the end of two frenzied hours she was sweaty and streaked with dirt, but the little house was clean and tidy, if not sparkling. Emily set her hair back into a braid and then marched up the stairs to Ilse's bedroom. 

"Get up," she commanded. "It's dinnertime."

"I'm not hungry," Ilse said, struggling. 

"That's why we're going on a walk first, to build your appetite. Get up, Ilse, and get dressed."

Something in Emily's voice must have convinced Ilse that she _would_ be taken seriously, this time. Ilse got up and out of bed. 

* * *

"Aren't you glad I made you come out?" Emily asked a short while later, as they walked along the Tomorrow Road. "Look, Ilse, at the sky. Have you ever seen anything so blue? I love these crisp winter days when everything seems sharper--and cleaner--and oh, so clear." Ilse walked along listlessly at Emily's side, with her head down. 

"Emily, you're having a baby," she said, without preamble. "When were you going to tell me?"

Emily felt the color rush to her cheeks. "I--"

"Don't try to deny it, Emily Kent. I know the signs, you remember. I've known for _weeks_ and been wondering when you would tell me." Ilse tossed her golden curls defiantly. 

"We found out--just after--and we didn't want to upset you, Ilse"

"Upset me?" Ilse gave a little laugh. "You couldn't upset me with your _happy_ news. May it turn out better for you than it all did for me. Well, when will it be?"

"Late in the summer--we hope--oh, Ilse."

"Don't take that worried tone with me, Emily," said Ilse. "Why, I'm _radiant_ with happiness for you and Teddy."

She _did_ look radiant--her face was glowing--and her tone was cheerful and light. But Emily knew in her heart of hearts that something had changed--something between them would never be the same again. Ilse leaned forward to drop a kiss on Emily's cheek. Her lips were very cold. 


	10. Another Spring and Summer

April 10, 19--

I was right--something between Ilse and I has changed irrevocably. Ilse is very cordial and distant to me when we meet--her smiles seem wide enough to split her face--but her eyes are dull with unshed tears, and hard, with something in them that looks like--envy? Hatred?

Could Ilse, my dearest friend of so many years, _hate_ me?

She and Perry have "declined with regret" every invitation that Teddy and I issued to them. Up until last week, when we had that late snowfall, I took myself up to Ilse's house at least every other day, to try and chat and fix this terrible coldness between us. But it was so exhausting. The conversation was so _forced_. Ilse and I, who once could not be apart for more than a day without missing each other, having absolutely nothing to talk about now. She doesn't ask me about our little forthcoming addition, I don't mention it. Though I am brimming with excitement, and in the days before, would have told Ilse every detail, every thought. When the snow fell the paths froze, and Teddy told me that I was not to go out, for fear that I would slip and fall. I was _glad_. I didn't want to suffer through another wordless afternoon, watching my beloved friend slip further and further away from me. 

April 26, 19--

Little Elizabeth came today to cheer me--she is staying for a month. I haven't been well this spring. Ilse and I have not spoken in weeks. I suppose this is how it shall be from now on. 

Teddy and I drove to meet her train--Little Elizabeth was the first one off. She ran to us happily, swinging her hat gaily, and hugged me so tight that I gave a little yelp. She is really such a dear. On the way back to New Moon--where she insists on staying even though Teddy and I have turned the second parlor downstairs into a guest room. The one upstairs we are using for a nursery for the baby. 

On the ride back, Little Elizabeth pointed out all of the things that she remembered from her last visit. 

"Oh, there is the Tomorrow Road! Hello, darling little road, I've seen you in my dreams. And someone has planted saplings in the Yesterday Road--soon it will be another road of Tomorrow. Oh, and Lofty John's bush! It looks so mysterious with those little dark-white pools of snow under the branches--they are like secret fairy worlds of winter. Is that Cousin Jimmy way over yonder, in that field! Let's stand and call to him. Oh, I can't wait to see everyone again!"

Teddy and I smiled at each other. We love Little Elizabeth--she is so childlike, though she is a grown girl. And a dear. _Such_ a dear. 

Aunt Elizabeth is in her element now that Little Elizabeth is here. They've already been making great plans for their time together. 

I feel a thousand times more cheerful now that she has come. 

May 10, 19--

I had a letter to-day--from Dean!

He has been this past season in Switzerland, having a new treatment on his back, that will help knit his bones together and make him far less hunched. He wrote to me once, at Christmas, from there, just a postcard of the Alps and the signature, _Dean_. It was addressed to Emily Starr, not Emily Kent. I suppose he just forgot I am Emily Kent now.

We have so much to talk about! I cannot wait to see him, but I must, because he has gone to Avonlea to visit some Priests there for the next week or two. I am going to have him over here some evening--I am already planning the dinner. Teddy smiles and goes along with my excitement, although he grumbles a bit because he knows that Dean loved me so, once upon a time. 

But surely he is over that by now? 

May 17, 19--

Little Elizabeth and I went to a book-fair in Shrewsbury yesterday. I do love a book-fair--I love seeing the neat and orderly stalls of books, each one a story, waiting to be read and understood. Little Elizabeth wanted to buy a book of poetry for her father, but I wanted a novel, so we went our separate ways to separate stalls. I was looking at the titles absently--picking books up and turning them over with my hand. I picked up a battered copy of _Lady Chatterly's Lover_--and saw my own face staring up at me from underneath! It was a copy of _my_ book, _Lost Charlotte_, right there on the shelf!

I reached for it--my hand brushed against another--I pulled back, and looked up interestedly to see who it was who reached for my book. A head of shaggy, unkempt hair--peculiar greenish eyes--a frank, cynical smile--I knew that face! But--but--

"Dean!" I cried, throwing myself at him. "Dean, oh, Dean, I almost didn't recognize you!"

He stood up tall--and ramrod straight. He had no hunch at all to speak of! "My time in Switzerland has been worth it, then," he said. "There will be no one to call me Jarback Priest any longer."

He looked so good and happy that I just smiled and stared at him for a minute. 

"But you," he said, taking my hand. "Look at you, Star. You're glowing. Well, well, you must have been busy." He grinned, holding up my book. "Finding lost Murrays and contributing more Kents to the world."

He gave a harsh laugh. Dean has never liked Teddy. Little Elizabeth walked over and took my arm then. 

"Emily, I've found the book for Father--and I got the last copy! A tiny, wee old lady reached for it--but I snatched it from under her nose. And I only feel a little guilty--I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate it as it should be appreciated. Oh. Hello."

She saw Dean and crimsoned. "Elizabeth Grayson, this is Dean Priest," I said. "Dean, this is Little Elizabeth."

"Little Elizabeth," he said curiously. "Why--you are almost taller than me!"

She was--their heights were exactly equal. "It is a nickname," said the glib Little Elizabeth, who was suddenly tongue-tied. 

Dean's face darkened. "You're lucky it's a kind one," he said, and excused himself, but not before he agreed to come for dinner the next night. 

We watched him walk away, and I checked Little Elizabeth's expression to see what you thought of him. Dean is an odd duck and not everyone takes to him. Her face was rapt and she was still staring after him, although he had long disappeared into the crowd. 

"_Who_ was that man?" she said, more to herself than to me. "Oh, who _was_ he?"

May 30, 19--

__

"A month, sweet Little-ones, is past"and Little Elizabeth is still here! She wrote to her father to ask last week if they might postpone their Paris trip--she wants to stay at New Moon another month. Her excuse is that it has been so rainy that she and Aunt Elizabeth haven't had time to do half the things on their list, but in my opinion, it is not only that, but something else.

Dean has been coming over most nights now. He says it is very lonely for him, rattling around in that old Priest Pond by himself. He and Teddy get along quite nicely, and have fought only once, over the physical appearance of the Roman goddess Juno. Teddy, the artist, thinks she must be blonde, and depicted her so in one of his latest paintings. Dean, the historian, is sure that she has dark-haired. 

"With glossy hair of night--like Emily over there," he said. 

They got into quite a heated argument, and Little Elizabeth and I just laughed at them, it was so absurd. Finally, Teddy and Dean looked sheepishly at each other and began to laugh, too. They shook hands and agreed that, in fact, Juno probably had red hair, that was blonde in some lights, and dark in others. It was a nice compromise, I think. 

Dean offered to walk Little Elizabeth back home to New Moon that night when he left. He goes by there on his way to Priest Pond. I watched them go down the lane, walking slowly and talking to one another. How tall and stately Dean is now! He is very gentle around Little Elizabeth--he doesn't treat her so cynically as he does the rest of us. In return, she is very sweet to him--and earnest. Sometimes I catch them looking at each other and I wonder if Dean--and Little Elizabeth--but no, I won't write it. Gossip is the tool of the Man Below--or so Aunt Elizabeth says. 

June 7, 19---

I saw Ilse in the store yesterday. Our eyes met across the aisle--I almost went to her--but something in her gaze stopped me. She was looking at me so intently and with a look I couldn't scrutinize. Then she turned and hastened away. 

I came home and cried a little over our lost friendship. 

Teddy finished a painting of Little Elizabeth today, and stood it against the porch wall to dry. It is very like her--her delicate face in profile, her pale white hair--the faint flush of roses in her cheeks--her strong shoulders, rising like alabasted out of her dress. By dinnertime I had dried my eyes and was downstairs looking at it, when Deam ambled up and sat by me. 

"Can I--?" he began haltingly, catching Teddy by the arm when appeared, "May I--?" He shook his head as if to clear it. "I _must _have a copy of that painting."

Teddy agreed and said he would make one. When he had gone I looked at Dean slyly--yes, Aunt Ruth, for once in my life I was sly. 

"Little Elizabeth is so sweet," I said inanely, hoping he would say something. 

"Yes," he said absently. "Very. It is one of the reasons why I love her."

I sat, stunned--I hadn't expected him to reveal so much!

"That is wonderful, Dean," I said. "Just wonderful."

Dean, still studying the early evening moon that had just begin to show overhead, gave a harsh laugh. "Do you think she could love me?"

He had the pitying voice he gets at times, so I was sarcastic with him. "No," I said, in a cutting voice. "Of course not! She couldn't be."

Dean was silent a while longer. I gave a sigh. 

"Dean," I said. "You are the best and wisest, nicest and gentlest man I know."

"Second best," Dean corrected me, with a smirk. 

"Best," I said. "Because I didn't--love--you like that, doesn't mean anyone else can't, either. Oh, Dean, you aren't Jarback Priest anymore--you never _were_ what everyone believed you to be. Why do you believe you _are_?"

Little Elizabeth came in, so we let the subject drop. Her face was very red and she looked almost angry. She did not talk to me very much and when she did it was to say flippant little things in a queer shaking voice that was very un-Little Elizabeth-like. After a bit I excused myself, and went up to bed. 


	11. A Love Fulfilled

Emily and Little Elizabeth went out on the verandah at New Moon to watch the beautiful, ghostly-purple night creep over the hills and into their garden. Teddy had gone overnight to Charlottetown, for a gallery opening. Emily had hoped to go, too, but Aunt Elizabeth whispered that a trip was not the wisest thing for someone in her _condition_. So she and Little Elizabeth had ventured through Lofty John's bush to see the New Moon folks for the evening. 

The two girls sat together on the bottom-most step--Little Elizabeth radiant and golden, with the last rays of sun shining on her pale hair, and Emily, white and witch-like, her raven tresses running free over her shoulders. Aunt Elizabeth _did_ lend the whole scene a prosaic aura, sitting behind them in a rocker, knitting wristers for Little Elizabeth to take to Paris when she went. Aunt Elizabeth had heard it was very damp there. 

Emily was reading from a book of fairy-stories that Dean had picked up in Switzerland--fairy stories with grotesque endings--not at all like the old familiar stories that Emily herself heard when she was small. They were hugely amusing. Emily laughed as she read the end of _Hansel and Gretel_. In this version the witch _did_ eat them. 

"Oh, how I wish Ilse was hear to read that," Emily sighed, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. They were rapidly threatening to become tears of something else. "She always thought that Hansel and Gretel _deserved_ to be boiled in oil--'How do you think that poor witch felt when she heard them eating her house?' she'd ask."

"It's a pity that you and Ilse have dropped your friendship of so long," said Aunt Elizabeth. 

"I haven't dropped it," said Emily, a little peevishly and a little sadly. "Only--I feel as if it had been _snatched_ away from me. Or as if it never had been. Ilse and I don't even nod to one another any more--it is as if we were never friends at all. I want to walk over to her and shake her until we both wake up from this dream. This _nightmare_. Or else--take her hand very gently and said, 'Ilse, please. Let's go back.' If only we could--go back!" She sighed. "Enough of this--it's getting me in the dumps. Little Elizabeth, _you_ pick the next story."

Emily had to say the girl's name several times before she looked up. She was lost in thought. She picked a story without much enthusiasm, and as Emily read she got the distinct feeling that Little Elizabeth wasn't listening. Aunt Elizabeth finally excused herself and went in for the night--the evenings were turning a little chilly and Aunt Elizabeth's rheumatism bothered her in the chill. When she was gone, Little Elizabeth whirled around. At the sight of her face, Emily lowered the book and let her voice trail away. 

Why--Little Elizabeth was--crying!

Not crying--it seemed to be more than that. Without any sound or warning, the tears began coursing down her cheeks, swiftly and silently. Little Elizabeth did not even try to wipe them away. 

"I have--been--holding those tears in--all _day_!" Little Elizabeth cried. "It feels--so--good to let them out at last!"

"Darling!" said Emily. 

"You aren't going to ask me what's wrong, are you Emily Kent?" said Little Elizabeth. "You know--you know. I never suspected--" Here she faltered. "I never guessed you had such a poor opinion of me!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said poor Emily. 

"Do you have a dream, Emily?" asked Little Elizabeth sadly. "Ever since I was small I have had a dream of fairyland--with a purple castle against the snow-covered hills--fairies in my garden--little green folk peeping out of the trees--and magic--heaps of magic--everywhere. Do you have anything like that, Emily?"

"I have my Alpine Path," Emily murmured. 

"Ever since I have come here I've been adding things to my fairyland--things that I want more than anything," said Little Elizabeth. "A little dear house, like Evensong--dear, fat, cuddly babies--an old maiden just like Aunt Elizabeth, but with pointed ears like yours. And--Dean! Dean! And now I shall never have him."

"You love him!" Emily crowed, triumphant. It was just as she had suspected. 

"Yes!" said Little Elizabeth passionately. "And _you_ told him I would never love him back--I heard you the other night--on the porch, at Evensong. 'Of _course_ she couldn't love you,'" she mimicked. "'Of _course_ she couldn't--love--you, Dean.'"

"I didn't--know--for sure--if you loved him," Emily stammered. "Dean is so--old. He is as old as your father, Little Elizabeth."

"'The bounds of love know not age or reason,'" quoth Little Elizabeth. "Do you suspect that would make any difference to me? But let's go back--why did you say it? I know what it is--you don't think I am good enough for him! I am young--and flighty--and silly--"

"You're a darling," said Emily with a smile. "But you must learn not to walk in on the _middle _of peoples' conversations. If you had come just a moment earlier, you would have heard Dean say that he loves you, too. But Little Elizabeth, Dean Priest has a terrible habit of pitying himself--I've tried for years to stop him with no avail and have resorted to irony and sarcasm. You'll have to cure him of it when you are married to himyou _are_ going to marry him, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Little Elizabeth, her tears drying on her cheeks and a strange light in her eyes. "If he asks me."

On the way back to Evensong, Emily met Dean in Lofty John's bush. 

"Go to her," she said. "She is waiting for you."

* * *

Little Elizabeth and Dean Priest announced their engagement in that week's paper. Everyone was in uproar except the New Moon folk. Dean and Little Elizabeth--it seemed so natural to them--far more natural than the idea of Emily and Dean! The adored one another. They all looked fondly as Dean lay out on the verandah with his head in her lap, Little Elizabeth running her fingers over his hair with a wise small on her face that seemed older than the rest of her. What mattered it that he was old and gray and she was young and pale? They went together like shadow and sunset. 

Even Aunt Elizabeth, who had never cared much for Dean Priest, had to revise her opinion. Little Elizabeth could not choose a man that was _bad_. She was a sensible girl. She abandoned the wristers she was knitting immediately and she and Aunt Laura got to work making Little Elizabeth's wedding things. When Dean came to call on his bride, he was always greeted pleasantly by Aunt Elizabeth, although a few times she slipped and almost called him 'Jarback.'

"We'll be married this fall," said Dean. They had decided to do it in Paris, so that Elizabeth's father could attend. 

"We won't be able to come," said Emily mournfully. She would be very busy come fall. But Aunt Elizabeth was going! Imagine Aunt Elizabeth in Paris! Emily wondered if she would look up at the Eiffel Tower and knit. 

"We'll think of you all day--of you both," said Dean, his eyes shining in a way Emily had not seen much before--not even when _she_ was engaged to him. "Teddy, man, I'm going to have you paint my bride in her wedding clothes. That is going to be your present to us. And I'll throw a little work your way every year. I want an annual painting of Little Elizabeth--so I can see how she changes--how the face that I love stays the same. And for God's sake, don't put any of Emily's _soul_ into those pictures--though you may in all of the others you please. My Beatrice has got a perfectly good one of her own!"

__

Beatrice was what Dean called Little Elizabeth. "Like Dante's Beatrice, she guided me to Heaven," he said. 

Emily smiled up at God after they had gone, arm and arm, back to New Moon. 

"Oh, You _do_ work in mysterious ways," she said. "I guess You know what You're doing, after all."


	12. Midnight, and All's Well

Aunt Ruth met Ilse Miller in the market one sunny morning in September. 

"Have you heard the news at Evensong?" she crowed. "There's a new little boy and girl there--yes, Em'ly's gone and had twins! Both healthy and the mother as well. The boy they're calling Douglas Murray Kent and the girl, Juliet Starr Kent. Oh, they're the prettiest things you've ever laid eyes on. But you'll come over and see for yourself. Anyway--I must fly! All the folks are there now--I've come out just to get breakfast. Teddy was supposed to do it, but he was so overwrought, poor lad. I almost think this was harder on him than Em'ly--almost."

Of course Aunt Ruth did not mean to hurt Ilse. She was from Shrewsbury, which was out of the way of Blair Water, and no one liked her enough to tell her anything anyway. She had not heard of the rift between Ilse and Emily. No one talked of it, anyway. There was nothing to tell. Ilse herself hardly knew what to make of it. But despite Aunt Ruth's best intentions, as Ilse watched Ruth Dutton scuttle happily off, she felt tears well up in her eyes. Perhaps they were tears of happiness--but perhaps they were tears of jealousy. Why should Emily have two healthy little babies when Ilse had none to hold? Even more likely they were tears of sadness--Ilse remembered her lost friendship with a pang. 

Before anyone could see her, crying in the market like a buffoon, she hurried off home. 

* * *

"Douglas and Juliet," said Aunt Elizabeth, who had returned flushed and excited--with a new hair-do!--from Little Elizabeth and Dean's wedding in Europe. "Both good, solid names. They'll wear well. Your mother would have liked that you named your daughter after her, Emily."

"My father, too," said Emily, from her bed, her eyes sparkling with equal parts happiness and tears. "I wish he could be here to see them, today. If I could bring him back for just one day--today would be it."

"You can call them Doug and Julie, as nicknames," said Aunt Laura, who was holding the sleeping Juliet in her arms. Teddy held Douglas, who was awake and alert, looking everywhere. 

"We're not going to give them nicknames, Aunt Laura," he said, staring down at the baby delightedly. "We're going to call them Douglas and Juliet and let them pick up all sorts of outlandish nicknames as they go. Emily, do you remember that Mr. Carpenter called you Jade? I'd almost forgotten it."

"Every nickname I've ever had I've just picked up," said Emily. "Father had so many for me. Dean called me Star--Mr. Carpenter Jade--I've forgotten why--and Aunt Ruth has bestowed on me the lovliest rendition of my name--_Em'ly_. Out of all that must be my favorite." The group in the bedroom giggled furtively as Aunt Ruth bustled in the kitchen below. 

After a while, the aunts departed, Aunt Laura resting Juliet again in Emily's arms. Teddy placed Douglas beside his sister, and he and Emily stared down into the tiny faces. 

"Teddy--Teddy," Emily said. "Oh, I just got the eeriest shiver down my spine. It was as if the _future_ stole into the room on tiptoe and whispered a great deal of things in my ear. I saw them grown--he in trousers, she in long dresses--I heard music--laughter. I saw a white girl tiptoeing out to meet her love in the bush over there. I saw them--playing in the graveyard--laughing--loving--_living_." 

Emily's eyes had that faraway look that meant she was seeing her mysterious _flash_. 

Teddy nestled his face against her rapt one, and carefully they kissed, trying not to wake their sleeping children. 

"Lucky! Lucky!" Emily said fiercely. "Why, I never understood the word--not really--until now."

* * *

Emily paced the floor in the moonlight--dreaming great dreams as she basked in the silvery glow. In her arms little Douglas quieted a bit. _Why_ did he always wake as soon as she laid down in bed? He slept through thunder, and slamming doors, and dogs barking, but as soon as Emily parted the covers and slipped into the sheets he opened his little eyes and shrieked. 

Teddy had spent the entire day sketching the twins. Emily picked up a sheaf of his drawings on the dining table. Already she was familiar with the curve of Juliet's plump cheeks, the shape of Douglas's bewitching eyes. They really _were_ the most beautiful children ever. Both had dark, downy hair--with a bit of a wave, like Teddy's--and Emily's violet-tinged eyes. She studied Douglas's face as he fell into sleep. His little nose really was the last word in noses. 

There was a rap on the door--the baby started, but Emily rocked him. She managed to throw on her wrap and open the door stealthily. Who _could_ it be at such an hour?

"I'm sorry," Ilse said, on the doorstep.

She was wearing an old housecoat and a red kerchief on her curls. Emily stared at her and realized that in every fight they'd ever had--and they'd had many--Ilse had never, ever been the one to come to her. She had never been the one to apologize first--no, she never even really apologized. She just let her eyes twinkle a certain way that made those who saw them know it was all as it should be. 

"For what?" Emily asked. 

"I--don't--know," Ilse said, and shivered. "I don't know what went wrong. Everytime I saw you I felt all fluttery, as if someone was walking over my grave--and I got a queer pain in my chest. I--don't--have it now. Isn't that strange? Emily--I think I was jealous of you."

"Well, that's hardly a new thing," Emily told her. "You were jealous of me all of those years that Perry mooned over me."

"No," said Ilse, pressing together her small red lips. "I think--I _hated_ you, Emily. Oh, it wasn't your fault. I just--envied--you your babies. That's all. But I don't--anymore--I'm just sad. And--I'm glad for you. I don't know where the jealousy went. I'm glad its gone. I don't _like_ hating people, Emily. It makes me feell--all eaten up inside." She wrapped her arms around her thin frame and shivered again. 

"Come in," Emily said, opening the door. "I'll make tea with milk and we'll have a moonlit chat. Oh Ilse--" Her free hand moved out to touch the pale cheek. "I've missed you so."

They settled themselves on the old sofa and Ilse parted the blanket to look at the sleeping baby. 

"This one must be Juliet," she said. "The lips are too full--the eyelashes too long to be a boy's. Oh, Emily, can I hold her?"

"You may," Emily said. "But this isn't Juliet, it _is_ Douglas."

"Oh!" Ilse laughed, accepting the small bundle. "Wee man, you'll break the hearts of girls the Island over when you're _just_ a tad older." Her tone was laughing but her eyes swam in tears. "I haven't held a baby since--since--"

Emily said, "I know."

"I can still remember everything about her," Ilse said a trifle defiantly. "I remember the weight of her in my arms. Your little man is a bit bigger. But only a bit. Her little hands, her nails, her hair, her browsoh, Emily, everything. Isn't that strange? It was only for a day and so long ago, now."

"You're a mother," Emily said passionately. "You wouldn't be if you didn't remember."

"Oh!" Ilse sounded as if someone had stuck her with something very sharp. "But can I be a mother when my child is dead? Oh, Emily, what if I don't remember her, after a while? What if one day I can't recall the shape of her mouth, or her tiny, wee dimpled knees? I don't want that day to ever come. What if--I don't--recognize her when--I get to heaven?"

"Little Emmy will recognize you," said Emily. "Why she is your guardian angel, Ilse--she is watching you from a dreamy pink cloud in heaven, right now. And you won't forget. You must know--you must--what she would look like today. It will always be like that."

"She'd be a fat, plump, laughing, dimpled baby," Ilse said. "With rumpled golden curls and rougish black eyes, like Perry's. She'd be so _pretty_! And she'd be a holy terror--we both were--smearing jam on the walls, and getting underfoot. You're right--I won't forget her. But Emily--it just _hurts so damned much_!"

They sat in silence as the clock struck midnight--the witching hour. 

After a while Ilse said, "He's got your pointed ears, " with a smile down at little Douglas, who was sleeping soundly. "He's an elf-baby, isn't he, tell the truth. You found him in the garden one morning as the fairies danced in the dawn."

Emily hadn't realized about the ears. "Juliet has them too, I suppose. Her ears are like his. Poor kidlets, I hope they don't mind them as much as I do."

"Well," Ilse laughed. "You didn't keep your promise--to name your first girl after me! But I wouldn't have expected you too, under the circumstances. What a terrible brat I was! Can you forgive me?"

"Yes--if you forgive me," said Emily. "Oh, Ilse--" she impulsively kissed her cheek. "We're friends again, aren't we?" 

"Of course we are!" said Ilse. "Always have been, always will be. In past and future lives. When I was Cleopatra on the Nile, you were my trusty handmaiden. When I was a medieval princess, you were my serf."

"When _I_ was the Chinese empress, you were my handmaid," said Emily, with a grin. 

"You parasitic insect!" said Ilse. "I was never a handmaid."

When Teddy awoke, he found them there, their hands entwined and smiles on their faces, even in sleep. 


	13. And the World Still Turns

In March Aunt Elizabeth died. It was a great shock to everyone. She had been sick only once all winter, with a little cold. She didn't even take to bed with it, but carried on cleaning and cooking and calling on friends. She wrote long letters to Little Elizabeth and Dean. Little Elizabeth would hav e a baby in the fall! 

Dean wrote, "When it is twenty, I'll be seventy, and when it's forty, I'll be dead. Even though the Priests are all terribly long-lived--but not that long-lived."

Aunt Elizabeth spent her spare moments at Evensong. She settled herself in the old rocker by the fire and held one of the children in her arms. Usually it was Juliet--Douglas thrashed about too much. She and Emily had long chats as Emily bustled about in the kitchen. 

"Oh, and Aunt Elizabeth, you should have seen Ilse in the shop, with an old Christmas wreath on her head, all sticks and holly and tinsel, pretending to be Mrs. John Lindley from the Cape. You know how she wears those outrageous hats. It was a dead on impression. And then Ilse turned 'round and who was there but _Mrs. John Lindley_! I thought I would die from laughing. Aunt Elizabeth? _Aunt Elizabeth_?"

For Aunt Elizabeth's head had dropped to her breast and her arms, holding little Juliet went limp. Emily dashed forward to catch the baby and feel for a pulse. There was nothing. Just like that--Aunt Elizabeth was gone. Still, she got on the phone and rang for Dr. Burnley. 

"Aunt Laura and Uncle Jimmy are taking it very hard, " she wrote in her Jimmy-book. "Aunt Laura had to be sedated from the shock. She is younger, so she has never in her life been without Elizabeth to take care of her. Uncle Jimmy wept out in the barn, when he was supposed to be milking the cow. I found him there. 

"'She never forgave herself for pushing me into the well,' he said. 'She never, ever did. I wish--I wish, Emily, that she'd had a minute or two of not feeling guilty about it. I'm happy enough. But it was always there, always there. I could see it in her eyes.'

"The funeral would have been tomorrow but Little Elizabeth wired that she is coming and that she must be there. She and Dean are in Japan--they want to travel until the baby's birth. Little Elizabeth is going to fly to Hawaii, hop on another flight and fly to California, then to Montreal, then Charlottetown. Then she will hop on the boat , and the train, to get here. Poor girl. I think Aunt Elizabeth was like a Mother to her, since she never knew her own. 

Me? I don't know what to do with myself. I'm sad, of course, but my sadness pales in comparison to the others. I'm always up and around doing the things that have to be done, tending to the twins, making arrangements. Everyone else seems paralyzed by their grief--even Teddy, who suffers from no great love for Aunt Elizabeth but an artist's sensitive soul. Sometimes I'm actually so busy that I forget, and it comes rushing back--but instead of being sad, I think, "Well, at least I got done what I needed to get done."

* * * 

The funeral was on a crisp, sunny day. You could smell spring in the air. Aunt Elizabeth in her casket looked very splendid in her best black silk dress--a bit out of fashion, but stately. Her hair was crimped, as per her request. She looked much more pleasant in death than she had looked in life--Emily realized that Cousin Jimmy was right. Aunt Elizabeth had always looked guilty--tortured--her face had been transformed by it. Now, relaxed, she looked--truly--as if she were at peace. 

* * *

Emily took a pot of soup over to New Moon for their supper. Aunt Laura and Cousin Jimmy were out--they had gone to plant a slip of a rosebush on Aunt Elizabeth's grave. 

Emily set the pot on the stove and, with a smile walked through the silent, lovely New Moon. 

She visited her own little room, then went down the hall and quietly opened the door to Aunt Elizabeth's room. She thought it would be locked, but it sprang open easily, with a welcoming creak. Emily walked in. She had not been in here for many, many years--not since she was given a room of her own. Aunt Elizabeth's lace cap was hanging on the bedpost. Her Bible was open to a verse--she had probably read it that morning, before she went over to Emily's. There were some scraps pieced together of a quilt she had been making for Juliet. It would never be finished now. 

Emily pulled open a drawer in the desk and looked through it. There were receipts in this one. She closed it. In another: One broken chandelier earring. She found a packed of folded paper in the third. Curiously, and with a sense of foreboding, Emily opened the one on top. 

Her own black, forthright writing jumped out at her. Why--these were her own little letters--the ones she had written to Father so long ago. One phrase caught her eye. 

__

Aunt Elizabeth is krewel and tyrannickal.

Emily covered her mouth with her hand. Why, had Aunt Elizabeth found these in her old room and read them all, again? Oh, what had she thought? _Aunt Elizabeth is cruel and tyrannical_. Truthfully, Aunt Elizabeth had laughed over those childish scrawls. She knew Emily loved her now. But Emily did not know this. Had Aunt Elizabeth, she wondered, gone to her grave thinking Emily--hated her? It was ridiculous--that was so many years ago--of course Aunt Elizabeth knew Emily loved her. But Emily was flooded with memories. The first night at New Moon--the first time she kissed Aunt Elizabeth's wrinkled cheek. Aunt Elizabeth flushing with pride when Emily published her first book. The sweet glances she gave her when she thought no one was looking. 

Emily sank down to the floor, and all of the tears of the past few days finally welled up and slipped softly down her cheeks. 

* * *

She stayed that way for a very long time. When she heard Aunt Laura and Cousin Jimmy come home she went to the basin and splashed her face, and then made her way downstairs. 

"Stay and eat with us," Aunt Laura begged, but Emily had left the twins with Ilse and needed to get home. 

"There a man coming up the lane, there," Cousin Jimmy noticed. "I wonder what he wants?"


	14. New Moon is Saved!

Emily returned to Evensong shaking. 

She had forgotten all about _this_ part. 

Now that Aunt Elizabeth was dead, cousin Andrew Murray would get New Moon. His solicitor had been there. Mr. Murray was conscious of their current hardships and sorrow, and he shared in it, the solicitor informed them. That is why he would give them until 1 June to vacate New Moon. Also, Mr. Andrew was prepared to make Cousins Laura and Jimmy a very generous offer. He would rent out his old house in Shrewsbury once he took up residence in New Moon, but he was offering Jimmy and Laura the old converted barn that stood in the lot. It was no longer being used. True, it would be small, but how much room did they need?

"A _barn_!" Aunt Laura cried. "Andrew Murray wants me--to leave my home--and live in a _barn_!"

"Our Lord lived in a barn, Laura," said Cousin Jimmy gravely. 

"He was _born_ in a barn but he didn't have to stay there," said Aunt Laura with uncharacteristic snappishness. "Oh, Emily, what will we do?"

  
Emily's eyes flashed white lightning. "We'll figure something out, Aunt Laura," she said. "But don't worry--this isn't happening."

* * *

"Emily!" said Aunt Addie, opening wide the door for her. "Why, where are your two darling babes? I _was_ hoping you'd bring them with you." Aunt Addie had no grandchildren of her own--Andrew's wife had died young--and this was a sore point with her. 

"Juliet's come down with a sniffle," said Emily politely. "And besides, I've come to talk business with Andrew--he could hardly take me seriously with a squalling baby on my knee." She tried to smile but her face felt very stiff. 

"I see," said Aunt Addie coldly, recognizing that Emily had come to talk about New Moon. Aunt Addie wanted badly to be one of the New Moon Murrays. They were considered finer stock than the Shrewsbury Murrays. She wanted very badly indeed to be mistress of that great ancestral home. She called for Andrew, who came in from his study. 

"Emily!" he said, jovially. He took her hands and leaned in to give her a kiss. His sidewhiskers tickled her cheek. Emily remembered how when Andrew had been courting her, long ago, she'd had that feeling of his sidewhiskers. _Why_ did he never shave them?

"Let's go for a walk," Emily suggested. She couldn't _be_ here anymore, under Aunt Addie's watchful eye. 

"Mind you take a jacket, Andrew," said Aunt Addie shrilly. "There a persistent little _wind_ blowing about the place tonight--mind you don't _bend_ in it."

Emily understood perfectly what she meant. There was no wind--the night was calm. 

* * *

They took a little path that ran by the edge of the Shrewsbury Run. It was terrible --Andrew made small talk as if nothing was wrong. Emily hated that falseness. She decided to cut right to the chase. 

"Andrew, I want you to give up New Moon," she said. "When Cousin Jimmy and Aunt Laura die, you may have it. But to take it from them now is so cruel. It is the only home they have ever known. I do believe it will kill Aunt Laura to leave it."

Andrew looked at her closely. "Nonsense, Emily," he said. "Aunt Laura will like it very much in town once she gets acclimated. She is accustomed to being coddled and indulged. She goes into hysterics if anyone does anything she doesn't like. It's a bit forced, isn't it?"

"No, it's not one bit forced," said Emily, through gritted teeth. "And Cousin Jimmy loves the place so--"

"Jimmy wouldn't notice where he was," said Andrew, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He's a half-wit. It's all the same to him."

Emily's temper flared but she held it down. She bit her toungue--literally--until the urge to scream at him had passed. Otherwise she would have no chance at all. 

"If you'd married me so long ago, you'd be the mistress of New Moon now," said Andrew easily, looking up at the sky. 

"What does that mean?" said Emily with a sideways look. 

"Nothing," said Andrew. "Just speculating."

Emily's eyes flashed. "Suppose I wanted to _buy_ New Moon from you," she said. "How much would you let it go for?"

A true Murray--one with any pride--would not sell the family home for any price. But Andrew was that other kind of Murray. Cousin Jimmy had remarked once that he'd sell his own mother for a dollar fifty in the market. Emily had giggled, and said that if Aunt Addie was her mother, _she'd _pay someone to take her away. New Moon was shabby and rundown--it was not worth more than two or three thousand dollars. 

"Not a penny under five thousand," said Andrew. "I'm sorry Emily."

"I'd like to buy it from you," said Emily staunchly. 

"Bring me the money and then we'll talk," said Andrew. 

* * *

"We haven't got five thousand dollars," said Teddy. "Even if we sold this house we'd only get about one thousand, and I'd have to sell fifteen paintings before we'd make up the difference. The bank would never give us a loan that big. I'm a painter, Emily--according to them, that's not a real job. Makes them nervous when a man doesn't have a farm or go to an office everyday. "

'There's some way," Emily said. 

Ilse had no money, but she and Perry offered what little they had. Neither did Dr. Burnley, but he did the same. Emily sat down and wrote a letter to Dean, explaining the whole situation--but she could not do it, she could not ask Dean for money. To make matters worse Teddy found the letter and they had a huge row over it. 

The days grew longer and warmer. For the first time Emily dreaded summer. 

She met Andrew at church. He winked at her. Winked! "Got any of that money to show me yet?"

"No," said Emily shortly, wishing she could strangle him. 

Secretly, Aunt Laura and Cousin Jimmy began to pack their things and ready them for the move into town. They did not let Emily know. It hurt them to leave New Moon--but one must prepare for the inevitable. 

* * *

Suddenly it was May--it was the last week in May--it was almost time for them to be out of New Moon. Emily's heart ached. She went out on the porch one night and stared through the gaps in the tree braches at the lights of New Moon. This time next week, when she saw those lights, it would be because Andrew and Aunt Addie and Uncle Wallace were there. 

Emily felt as if she'd failed all of them. 

Teddy found her on the porch, staring moodily into the distance. He kissed her lightly and held out the day's mail, which he'd picked up on his way home. 

"There's a letter for you there, Emily," he said. "Postmarked California--you haven't got an improper correspondence going on behind my back, have you?"

Emily smiled wanly. "It must be from Little Elizabeth and Dean," she said. 

Teddy went inside, brushing the hair out of his eyes. 

In a minute he ran back again. Emily was shouting on the front porch--he could hear her bounding around--was she laughing or crying or both? 

"Teddy, come quick!" she screamed. 

He flew downstairs. No--nothing was wrong, but there was Emily on the porch with tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She held a slip of paper in her hand. 

"It's a check," she half-laughed, half-sobbed. "From the Hollywood Grand Motion Pictures Company. They want to make _Lost Charlotte_ into a movie. Sara Stanley, the Canadian actress, will play _Charlotte Olney_." Her voice broke. 

"A movie!" Teddy said. 

Emily nodded. "They wanted to buy the rights from me--they sent a check for ten-thousand dollars. Teddy! Teddy, do you know what this means? New Moon--lovely old New Moon-- is saved!"


	15. The Alpine Path

Of course Andrew took the money. He and Aunt Addie designed a house on the outskirts of town. A new, shiny, charmless house. With too many windows. 

Emily and Teddy left Evensong to Dean and Little Elizabeth. He had given them the house in the first place. They would use it to visit as soon as Elizabeth was well enough to travel. For--Little Elizabeth and Dean had a little daughter while they were traveling in Italy. Her name was Bella, which meant beautiful. Dean wrote that she lived up to her name. 

In the summer , Dr. Burnley died. Ilse andPerry moved into his old house, and the girls ran over to see each other every day. 

"It's strange to have the old folks gone," Ilse remarked one dreamy afternoon, when the light over the fields was so golden it was almost a tangible thing. "We're the next in line to go, aren't we, Emily? It means we're the grownups now. Funny, isn't it? I don't feel any different--I feel just like the little ragamuffin kid I always was." Ilse kissed the sleeping child sprawled in her arms--it was Allan, her and Perry's small son. He was lovely and handsome and perfectly healthy, and Ilse and Perry would produce a sister for him after Christmas. 

Emily waved Ilse and Allan off from the porch of New Moon. From the porch she could hear Douglas and Juliet babbling nonsense, and Cousin Jimmy answering them as seriously as if they were talking of the politics of the state. He was so good! How could people call him simple? Aunt Laura was singing in the kitchen while she cooked, and good smells filled the old house. Soon Teddy would be home from work--with the rest of the money from the film, they'd opened a small gallery in town. 

It had been very popular, the film, winning all sorts of awards. It was considered very avant garde for its time. Emily had had a letter from Sara Stanley, who played the lead in the Hollywood production of _Lost Charlotte_. 

"It was the most thrilling experience of my life," she wrote--Sara Stanley, the great star, wrote that to _Emily_! "And as a consequence I've named my youngest daughter Charlotte Felicity King. I'm traveling in Europe now, but I do hope that when we return to the Island next year we may visit you--my husband Beverly, my girls Charlotte and Rachel and I. Promise, dear Emily, that you won't tell the etiquette columns that we invited ourselves?"

Life was full of so many wonderful things--little things--big things. Emily sighed and looked out over the bush, and the fields, she heard laughter and song--she felt love for everyone, and she felt loved by them. The world for her, was filled with so much beauty that it almost hurt. 

Through the trees Teddy came, whistling. Emily ran to him. 

Before she caught up she turned to look back at New Moon. Cousin Jimmy chased the twins out on the verandah and Aunt Laura came outside waving. Teddy caught her up in his arms and swung her around as the sun made the first part of its journey into twilight. Oh, _this_ was the Alpine Path--this was her greatest success. This home, and family, and children, and friends. And a few good, whimsical books written to make people feel good about life. Yes, this was very top. Emily smiled. She'd been there, all along. 


End file.
